I Blame The Rain

The rain is falling softly
on this empty,
quiet house.
There is a stillness
inside
that should not be
disturbed.


I reach for my
glass of tea,
uttering not a sound,
and find that I have been
whisked
off
by my imagination,
to a world I've made
of words in my head.



I have been told before,
that I am
now
expected
to act like an adult.

But
really.

Who wants to be one of
those
when they have the capacity
to
be
ANYTHING
?